Killing Me Softly
by Katie1995
Summary: Effie has been made to witness many horrors in her job. Watching each year as her tributes were slaughtered, she didn't think it could get any worse, that the horrors could multiply one-hundred times more. That she would fall for Seneca Crane.


**(A/N – I do not own the characters or**_**The Hunger Games**_**in any way, all rights are reserved to**_**Suzanne Collins**_**.)**

**Killing Me Softly**

**Effie's P.O.V.**

"You won't talk?" The Peacekeeper that has been assigned to the room I am held captive in tries to talk to me. I don't know why. After all, he knows I'm not going to say anything.

I feel strangely bare in my natural form. I wear no make-up or wig today. Instead, I am only complimented by a locket that hangs from a chain around my neck. I have no words; I have nothing to tell them. It hurts to breathe let alone speak, and all I wish now, is that this person will leave me alone.

But he doesn't.

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, hoping that when I open them, I'll be lying next to Seneca in our bed with his arms wrapped around me and his good morning smile curving his lips. But it doesn't happen, and when I open them again the peacekeeper only has a sly smile to greet me. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and stare numbly at the white table in front of me burning an invisible hole into the plastic like surface.

A door from behind me opens but I do not stir. I see the peacekeeper rise quickly to his feet and that's the moment I realise it must be someone of importance because of the effort the white clad man has put in to greet my visitor.

"Ah, Effie Trinket, such a pleasure to meet you." I make a sound, a cross between a yelp and a cry so I sound like a wounded dog. It seems to give pleasure to the man, so I bite my bottom lip until it bleeds to refrain from crying.

Chair legs scrape across the stone tiled floor, but I don't look up. The smell of blood fills my nostrils and I gag automatically. I don't need to look up to know he's using a Rose to try and cover the disgusting irony smell.

"You won't even say hello?" He taunts. "What a shame. I was looking forwards to meeting the escort of District 12's victors." The chair President Snow sits on creaks as he adjusts his position and therefore weight. A peacekeeper steps up to take his place behind me. I don't see whoever does it, but I can feel them there. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and a chill runs up my spine.

"I have nothing to say to you," I croak, my voice hoarse because of the lack of speaking I have been doing.

Panem's president sighs in satisfaction when my voice finally feels the room.

"But I bet you have plenty to say to Seneca."

My hand that's rested limply on the table suddenly resembles a claw as my fingernails claw the table top. I've tried so hard already to keep my emotions hidden, but now, in front of the man about to destroy my life, I can't bear to do so any longer.

"Don't," I spit. "Don't even say his name."

The peacekeeper takes a step forwards and I bite my lips again as my anger flares.

"Seneca," he mocks, "has requested to see you one final time."

My heart twists as I chew over his words in my head. "_Seneca, you, one final time."_

I don't answer straight away; instead, I take my time to finally look up as my bravery slowly flows through my body. President Snow looks older in person. Lines crease his forehead, and his blue eyes are cold like ice. Fitting, really, considering he's a sly as the snakes we have that inhabit the whole of Panem.

"Your silence tells me all I need to know," he sneers at me, a smile now on his lips. "Really Effie, did you think you could get past me? President Snow, ruler of Panem?" He pauses and then scoffs in my face. "Well, Effie, from now on I believe we both know where we stand."

He pushes himself away from the table and the chair legs screech across the floor setting my teeth on edge. I allow my eyes to follow him across the room before he pauses at the door.

"One final thing, Miss Trinket, I do believe Cinna's stylist crew are waiting for you." And then he's gone just as fast as he appeared. A peacekeeper, Thread by the looks of it, handcuffs me and forces me to stand. I sway uncertainly because of the weight loss I've endured. I've been held for a month now, and what for?

Nothing.

Because I was a stupid, naive woman who believed that love would prevail over everything. And it m didn't because it _couldn't! _The man I love will be dead in less than two hours, and that means one thing; my theory failed.

A tear runs down my cheek as the peacekeeper thrusts me out of the room and down white corridors where we finally come to a stop before a red door labelled "room 908." The peacekeeper takes a set of keys from his white trousers and selects a small golden key that unlocks the door. Pushing it open slightly, he pushes me in before relocking the door.

It's dark and barely allows any visibility, but I can feel eyes on me; Portia and her three assistants, Cinna, Venia, Octavia and Flavius. I want to curl up and hide away from them but I can't. They're here to make me look beautiful for my lover's last moments.

The weight of the situation seems to hit me like a tonne of bricks and my knees finally lock as I fall to the floor. My breath seems to have lost itself as I fight to inhale and exhale, but there's nothing, just concrete blocking my airways. I hide my face under my arm and then, bursting from the seams, my tears allow me to release the emotion I have been hiding. I try to push myself up, but the sobs that rack my body prevent me from getting back up. I feel arms wrap around me as someone pulls me into their body and rocks me.

"I d-don't w-want to look p-pretty," I beg as I clutch their shoulders with my hands. "D-don't m-make me d-do this."

Whoever is holding me places a hand behind my neck to support it and then rests their forehead against mine. I grab their forearms in my hands as tears roll down my cheeks and splash on the floor as they make contact with the concrete. A finger rests under my chin so my head's lifted and I'm looking my comforter in the eye.

Cinna.

"Please?" I whimper.

Cinna, too, has tears in his eyes, but he replies smoothly, "I always channel my emotions into my work" I push myself closer into his chest and rest my chin on his shoulder and I know from what he's said that he'll make me look amazing. I knew what he was doing for Katniss, and I knew what he would do for me. "Now come on." Cinna pulls me to my feet like a rag doll and guides me to a stool where Flavius, Octavia and Venia are stood waiting.

I hiccup and gasp for air as the sobs subside and the pain grows stronger. Sitting down emotionless, Flavius pulls my hair out from the loose bun I put it up in this morning and rakes his fingers through the knots that have developed over the day. I wince, but realise the tugging is oddly comforting. None of them know how much I've missed them.

Lights are found and I'm momentarily blinded as the yellow hue fills the dingy room. Cinna's sat behind me as he observes his stylists work. I follow their instructions as they come, closing my eyes for the eye shadow, pursing my lips for the lipstick and so on. A mirror is in front of me but I stare above it.

Finally, they're finished and I'm handed over to Cinna. The others leave the room and the only sound is our breathing, heavy now with anticipation and dread. He takes my hand and spins me around, only stopping me when he grasps my two hands in his.

"One more thing, darling," he whispers.

I'm turned so I'm looking into a full length body mirror. I'm wearing a satin, turquoise dress that has a golden Mockingjay spread across it – its tail feathers starting at the bottom and its head over my left breast. Cinna walks up behind me and places a head piece on my white, turquoise laced wig – a simple clip shaped like and arrow through a ring. I know it signifies Katniss' Mockingjay pin and it makes me choke up.

"Thank you," I gasp placing a hand over my mouth.

Cinna's lips twitch slightly in acknowledgement but it's too sombre to be happy at the moment.

"They told me I had to leave as soon as I was done," he confesses, quickly. "So I guess it's goodbye for now."

I spin wildly around a sharp "no" leaving my mouth. Cinna sighs as he teeters at the door. A peacekeeper has already appeared and I'm screaming at them, but they grab Cinna by the wrists and pull him away as I run to the door. Another peacekeeper grabs me around the waist and my wig's becoming displaced as I struggle against him.

"We don't want you to go off now, Miss Trinket."

A door opens from beside us and the door Cinna left through is barred over. A sudden brightness floods the room and I squint into the white lights, unable to tell where I am going. Thread pushed me into the blinding light and fear overcomes me. I trip over something and fall to my knees, catching myself with my hands.

The lights finally dim and there he is. I look around the room to find glass walls with spectators behind them. President Snow is sat in a chair built higher than the others. He's drinking a red substance, toasting it towards me when he sees me.

"_Let the Hunger Games begin,"_ I think, grimly. I feel for the tributes. How humiliated they must seem in the arena.

The lights blare again and then another figure is thrown to my level. I recognise the hands before anything else.

The hands that have caressed me, loved me and cherished me. The hands of Seneca Crane.

I propel myself into him and he catches me in his arms. We're so synchronised together, both of us knowing each other's intentions. Placing a kiss on my forehead, he whispers: "I never knew you could be any more beautiful."

And his comment makes me smile which I hate, because from now and counting, Seneca's as good as dead to me. I hold him as tightly as I can, only breaking away to trace the contours of his face which I know off by heart. I let my index finger linger on his lips before he kisses it and then tucks a loose curl behind my ear.

I realise I'm getting too comfortable and so push myself away quickly, ignoring the best I can at the pain it causes my lover.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, brokenly.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, just stares at me, and no matter how hard I try I can't break eye contact. He's fumbling with something I can't quite make out, and I assume it's a belt of some sort, but then he's producing a knife and offering it to me. I freeze in shock as a huge cheer emits from the audience behind the glass.

"What do you want me to do?" I scream at him. "Kill you?"

His eyes flash and I know it's exactly what _they _want me to do.

"They'll torture you otherwise," Seneca counters.

I back up further and the knife skids across the floor, stopping my feet.

"No!" I shout, slamming my fist against the glass and looking at Snow. "No!" I repeat.

The glass buzzes and a shock goes through my body making me scream out in pain.

"See?" Seneca says. "I told you so."

I look back to him and find tears streaming down his face. "I don't want to," I admit. "I can't."

Seneca claws the floor like I did the table before answering, "But I want you too."

My emotions are going into overdrive. Seneca, the father of my unborn child wants me to kill him! I shake my head and another shock goes through me.

"Please!" He begs. "Look at you, Effie; I can't watch you be tortured for my mistake."

Tears begin to pour down my cheeks and I grab the knife in my right hand, slowly crawling over to Seneca.

"You don't want this," I argue.

"But I do," he retorts.

I breathe out slowly remembering the last moments of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

"Don't make me do this, Seneca."

"If I do it myself, Effie, you'll be imprisoned. They want you to be punished. This is it. Please, take it. I can't have you going through what I did."

I cradle him in my arms. He's frozen to the floor by invisible binds and my throat constricts. I bring the knife shakily to his heart but am stopped by President Snow's voice.

"The throat."

I cry out in anger and mortification as I look back at Seneca. He nods, closing his eyes. The knife's shaking in my hands as I rest the blade against the tender skin of my lover's throat.

"I love you, Seneca." I kiss him on the lips one final time, feeling as his lips kiss me back.

"I'm ready," he whispers.

"I know you are."

And then I do it, as if compelled by another force. The blade cuts his tender skin and blood pours down his chest, staining my hands and his white shirt. The crowd is rowdy with excitement and shock. I'm convulsing with my lover as he struggles to breathe due to my actions. I force myself to look at his face because I know he's looking at me. I don't care whose watching, all I care about is him, and so I begin to sing. Like Katniss did for Rue, I sing him to death.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow  
>A bed of grass, a soft green pillow<br>Lay down your head, and close your eyes  
>And when they open, the sun will rise<p>

Here it's safe, and here it's warm  
>Here the daisies guard you from every harm<br>Here your dreams are sweet-  
>-and tomorrow brings them true<br>Here is the place where I love you.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away  
>A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray<br>Forget your woes and let your troubles lay  
>And when again it's morning, they'll wash away<p>

Here it's safe, and here it's warm  
>Here the daisies guard you from every harm<br>Here your dreams are sweet-  
>- and tomorrow brings them true<br>Here is the place where I love you.

"Here is the place where Love you." I repeat again as the knife falls from my hand.

Seneca's hands, which are placed around his throat, begin to grow limp as his life leaves his body. I can't see his face anymore through my tears and instead everything becomes a blur of red. It's over. There's blood on my hands, on the floor, even over my dress. Seneca makes sure his eyes are looking into mine. I scream, shrill, as I lose him to The Capitol. Struggling, he places both his hands on my abdomen, gurgling as he tries to speak to me. I place my ear against his mouth to catch his forced words.

"I... l-love you both," he says weakly.

I hold him tighter to me and fold myself across his body to protect him from anything else. I can see Cinna and the others stood shackled outside the glass walls. They're faces are shocked, almost disbelieving, but every one of them is crying. "I know you do. I love you too."

And through all the pain, he smiles one final time, however it doesn't reach his eyes, because now he's really gone. The only sound echoing off the glass is my weeping. Blood begins to pool and congeal around us as I keep him in my arms. I won't let him go.

The crowds outside are jeering at me now and I throw the knife in Snow's direction with incredible accuracy. If the force field wasn't there, he would have been dead, just like Seneca. When his name passes my thoughts I look back down at the dead man lying motionless in my trembling arms. There's nothing keeping me alive anymore.

In disgust, I slide from underneath him and to the opposite side of the room where I draw my knees up under my chin and rock. I am an animal, a feral being that has taken a life because they asked for it. I shouldn't have done it. I should have refused, been tortured even killed. And now, I am nothing. I am neither animal nor human. Because whatever feelings are coursing through me, they are alien, and I do no longer recognise myself. President Snow is killing me softly.

The smell of blood is so strong that it makes me gag. Bile feels my mouth and I spit it out, degraded in front of the audience. Bright light purposely fills the room once again to blind me and cover my eyes with my arms in grief, pain and blindness. When I look up again, Seneca's gone and President Snow stand patiently before me, blood prints leading from his shoes to the far wall where I assume there's a door. I get up without thinking and run towards him in a rage, slapping him across the face full force. He doesn't flinch, just merely smiles slyly at my distressed state. I fall to my knees hanging my head as the crowd disperses outside. They bang and knock the glass as the microphone from outside allows every insult thrown at me to be clearly heard.

I know that they've rigged cameras up in this glass box of pain, and I also know every citizen of The Capitol, except a handful, have just watched me murder my own soul mate. I think back to the day President Snow paid me a personal visit, and I realise this is what he planned for me from the very start.

"Do you know where we stand?" He asks, a slight humorous tone lacing his words.

I try to answer but a crackle leaves my dry lips.

"Pardon, I don't think I heard you," he chuckles.

I grit my teeth before spitting the answer out again. "Yes."

Snow's footfalls echo of the glass walls as he walks around me. I shrink into myself, scared of what he will do to me.

"There is of course, Miss Trinket, one final problem we need to take care of."

I look up at him then, determining his words. My eyes go wide at the subtle reasoning and my arms automatically wrap around my torso. I shake my head wildly, chanting: "No, no, no!"

But President Snow isn't listening to me and someone from behind grabs me roughly, pushing me from the brightly lit room and back into the small room I was made over in before everything that had just happened. I struggle against the body until something sharp breaks the skin of my upper arm and I fall into a state of limbo, so I'm there but I'm not there.

And now, I couldn't care less, because The Capitol's taken everything from me. So what do I have left to care about?

My pride?

That was lost months ago.

Myself?

I've lost myself.

Love?

Love has destroyed me.

So I stay in my state of limbo as they abuse me further, only concentrating on the hope that Seneca, wherever he is, forgives me for what I was made to do. Hoping, that Katniss, our Mockingjay, will destroy Snow for what he has done to his people.

**A/N – This one-shot is pretty gruesome, but I wanted to make it so that Effie has to do it like Peeta/Katniss would have unless Seneca Crane didn't proclaim them both victors in **_**The Hunger Games.**_

**__It was meant to be a chapter to my _Their Odds Were Not in Their Favour _story, but after much debating, I decided it would be much better as a one-shot, so here you go.**

**Anyways, please review! Feedback's always appreciated.**

**Thanks, Katie1995. :)**


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